Aubrey's not dying. He just has big balls.

It turns out that my hypothyroidism was viral, so while it may come back, I am now fine and not suffering from an autoimmune disease. Thank fuck for that.
Anxiety and Guilt, my two bitchy little BFF's, are unfortunately not viral, and even when it comes to something as banal as a pretty antisocial hamster, they get involved:

Monday night and my husband wants to watch a movie in bed - a very respectable request and one I was quite looking forward to. I go and check on Aubrey, our crappy little hamster that I happen to love and nobody else gives a shit about (my colleague Carli says he's not a real pet...not cool Carli...not cool). The poor little bastard is shaking in the corner of his cage and rubbing and biting his nether regions. Now Aub's has always had what looks to me like a protruding anus. I was never sure if it was a tumour or if he was a Kardashian in a past life, but he seemed healthy, so I didn't pay much attention...until Monday night, when the protrusion was twice its usual size and causing Aubrey a lot of distress. So I get tearful and totally panic-stricken, thinking that because I hadn't made time to take him to the Vet, he was now suffering and slowly dying and I was wicked and selfish and irresponsible.

I ask my husband if I should put diluted cortisone cream on Aubrey's bum. Or nappy cream. My husband tries to be empathic but he really doesn't give a shit and just wants to watch a movie.

"Do you think he's dying?"
"No. I think he's fine."
"What if it's my fault and I killed him? Isn't that second degree murder? Or man-slaughter?"
"Mm. Shame love. Do you want to watch the pilot of Smash?"

I give Aubrey a crushed Rescue Remedy tablet in some warm milk and half a teaspoon of homeopathic sleeping powder and he seems to stop shaking.

We watch Smash and I calm down.

Next morning, I rush Aubs to the filthy, foul Vet down the road, where a three-legged sadistic cat looks at Aubrey and licks his feline lips for about 5 minutes. I would have kicked him if his weirdo owner wasn't standing right there eyeballing me. Aubrey is always being threatened or marginalized. It's disgusting.

"Aubrey has a prolapsed anus," I say, confidently to the Vet.
"Aubrey has the biggest balls I've ever seen," he replies.
"What the fuck??? It's his bum! He was scratching it like crazy and shaking! He has worms or protruding intestines or a tumour....or...or.."
"Or big balls."
"He was scratching and gnawing at himself!" I insist.
"He was masturbating."

Ok. Shut the front door. WHAT? First, the mangy psycho legless feline tries to eat my hamster and now this freaky Vet says that Aubrey isn't sick,he's just randy??

It's just fucking disrespectful. This hamster is a real live thing and everywhere he turns, people are dissing him. I refuse to believe it. And for some really screwed up reason, I would find it much easier to accept it if he had a tumour than to try and get my head around a horny hamster (a R391,00 diagnosis).

Eugh.